Harley's holiday horrors
by Lady-tonya
Summary: Harley captures robin as a Christmas present what will they do to celebrate this red Christmas
1. Chapter 1

" _Merry Christmas, Mistah J!"_

" _It was until I saw you, my dear."_

The voices drifted into Robin's unconscious from seemingly miles away; the high-pitched shrill of the first echoed by the sardonic retort of the second. It was a sound like nails on a chalkboard, causing him to involuntarily shudder, and dragged him reluctantly back to wakefulness.

" _Mind the step, Puddin', and no peeking!"_

" _As much as I like role reversal, I do prefer to be the one doing the kidnapping..."_

Robin recognised the voices that were serving as his alarm clock, the knowledge of who was coming towards him making him control his slow trip back to consciousness. He kept his eyes closed as he gradually became aware of his surroundings; the cold hard surface he was lying on, the distant drip of moisture trickling down damp walls, the approaching footsteps.

"But you can't leave Arkham, Mistah J," Harley Quinn's voice pierced his concussion-dulled ears as clear as day, making Robin acutely aware of the pain from the bruises that already littered his body. And this was before the inevitable torture had even begun. "You couldn't've kidnapped me."

"So you thought: 'why not wake ol' Joker up and drag him through the hallways blindfolded'?" The Joker retorted, sounding irritated; his voice slightly groggy with interrupted sleep.

"It's a _surprise_ , Mistah J. I got you a present!" Harley announced proudly. Robin could feel her shadow fall across him, the soft patter of her feet mere inches from his face, telling him that he was lying on the ground. His arms and legs were tied awkwardly behind him, making his already abused limbs ache even more. "You can take off the blindfold now, Puddin'!"

There came a rustling of fabric as the Joker complied, followed by a beat of pure silence.

"Oh, Harley my dear! You shouldn't have!" the Joker practically cooed. "How did you...?"

"I snuck him in through the dead man's entrance," Harley replied smugly. Robin was wide awake now, though his eyes stayed closed behind the mask that remained comfortably on his face. His head was pounding with a vengeance, making it difficult to form a coherent thought, but he was beginning to put the pieces together. He really didn't like the picture that they made.

"Clever girl!" the Joker congratulated as Harley finished her graphic retelling of her smuggling adventure. Robin felt the taller psychopath kneel down in front of where he lay on his side and carefully cracked open his eyes. The Joker grinned and flicked open a switch blade. "Just what I always wanted."

And Robin realised where he was.

Arkham Asylum. Trussed up like a present for Harley Quinn's psychotic boyfriend.

How did this nightmare even start?

* * *

 **Three hours earlier...**

...at Gotham Academy's Christmas Dance, Dick Grayson was bored. The evening had started off well enough; the music was good and it was a chance to meet up with friends that he normally wouldn't see during Christmas Break. But as the music slowed down and the couples overtook the dance floor, the novelty was beginning to wear off.

Being Gotham Academy and the higher education choice of the city's rich and powerful, a school dance couldn't just be in the gym decorated with streamers with someone's dad manning the iTunes library. No, it had to be big and themed and cost more to throw than most people earned in a year. This year's theme was the oh so clever wordplay of Snow Ball; complete with indoor snow machine, ice sculptures and animatronic snowmen.

But Dick was used to the excess of the Gotham elite, and merely rolled his eyes as he slouched on the bleachers. He'd been forced into formal dress for the evening, though now two hours in his tie was undone and suit jacket thrown on the bench beside him. Alfred would have a fit when he saw the creases later, but for now, Dick had more pressing concerns.

Such as Barbara Gordon and her dance partner, Devon Wynters.

The two of them were locked in a slow dance, Babs' long gown swishing elegantly with every sway, and her long red hair tied up Grecian style. As Dick watched her from the sidelines, his mind couldn't help but wander back to his birthday a few weeks prior where a game of spin the bottle had had the two of them stepping briefly over the boundaries of friendship. But then Devon's hands would stray too far south below Babs' waist and a sharp, burning sensation in his gut would force Dick's hands into fists. He knew that the two of them weren't dating or anything – Devon was just some dumb, water-polo-playing jock that Babs' tutored on weekends.

Not that it would matter if they were dating. Dick wasn't jealous. He was just... looking out for his friend, that's all.

Finally the song ended and Babs' skilfully extracted herself from Devon's octopus hands and skedaddled off of the dance floor. She climbed up the bleachers with a ballerina's grace and dropped down beside him. "Hey Dick, you all right?"

Dick made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

Babs' tutted and lightly shoved him; and that brief contact absolutely did not have him flashing back to their time in the closet. At all. "Come on, you've been sulking all night. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," Dick grumbled. Babs raised an disbelieving eyebrow. "I'm just bored, is all."

Babs grinned as the music began to liven up again and a new crowd of students congregated on the dance floor. "That's because you're not dancing!" She tugged his arm invitingly. "Come on, I love this song!"

Butterflies immediately swarmed in Dick's stomach; his cheeks surely flushing a far brighter red than her hair, though he could only hope that the lighting hid them. It shouldn't be that big a thing – they were friends, they had danced together before – but ever since their kiss... Well, a dance suddenly had so much more meaning. "Uh... umm..."

 _Wow, eloquent Grayson._

"Are you okay?" Babs asked, her bright smile turning into a concerned frown. "You've gone really pale. Are you not feeling well?"

Dick latched onto the proffered excuse and ran with it. "Uh, yeah. Actually, uh... I'm not..." Any second now he was going to remember how to speak in complete sentences, surely. Babs kept watching him with her beautiful blue eyes, those damn butterflies performing the cha-cha-cha on his stomach. "I need some air."

"Oh, okay," Babs said despondently as he stood abruptly and all but ran down the bleachers. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Outside? Alone? Just the two of them?

"Uh, no," Dick denied a little more bluntly than he had intended, Babs' slightly hurt expression the last thing he saw as he practically ran from the hall.

 _Smooth, Grayson._ Real _smooth._

Escaping the clutches of the Snow Ball and teenage hormones, Dick didn't stop running until he hit the Academy's main door and dropped onto the front steps. He cringed at his own awkwardness, wondering how the fricking Boy Wonder had been reduced to a blubbering wreck. It had just been one kiss... or two... under a _dare_ no less.

And Babs seemed totally calm about it, so clearly she didn't think that it meant anything.

So there was nothing to get worked up about.

Now all he needed was for the butterflies partying on his lower intestine to get with the program.

"I really need to hit something," Dick muttered to himself, sighing heavily. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, making the reassuring weight of his utility belt shift beneath his shirt. He had his 'other' uniform on beneath his dress clothes as well; his Bat training drilling in the need for him to always be prepared for anything. In case of emergencies he could pull out the mask and kick major butt. And didn't that just give him a fantastic idea?

Okay, so maybe needing to blow off some steam didn't really qualify as an 'emergency' or whatever... And maybe Bats had banned him from patrol tonight while Bruce Wayne was held up at an inescapable charity function...

But those thoughts were mere background noise as his mind was made up. He found himself a phone box and performed a quick change before emerging again as Robin, and feeling instantly better.

How could this masterful plan possibly go wrong?

* * *

 **Meanwhile...**

...at a grand Charity Ball, Bruce Wayne was similarly bored. Extravagance and superiority surrounded him on all sides, closing around the only sane man claustrophobically like a wet blanket. He silently wished that the soda in his glass was actually the champagne that he was pretending it was. If it wasn't for the fact that this was a _Wayne_ Foundation event, he would have escaped this madness hours ago. As it was he was still quietly considering the option.

Especially as he saw Vicki Vale making a beeline towards him.

"Why, Mr Wayne!" the reporter greeted enthusiastically, the deep plunge of her neckline guaranteed to get answers out of weaker men. She raised a sardonic eyebrow. "What a surprise to see you here this evening."

Bruce smiled charmingly, though it would be clear to anyone that truly knew him just how fake the expression was. "I thought it was about time I put in an appearance," he replied with a guilty half-shrug. "I've been busy recently and missed quite a few of these events."

"Ah yes, _busy,_ " Vicki repeated disbelievingly. "I'm sure you're life of wealth and leisure is rather hectic."

 _You have no idea_. Bruce silently thought. Between the League, the Team, Gotham, the Light and everything else, the Wayne Foundation and its various galas hadn't exactly made it very high on his list of priorities. But that wasn't really something that he could share with a reporter, so he simply pretended that he hadn't even heard her comment, as distracted as he was by another daring neckline that sauntered past.

Vicki tutted in irritation. "Yes, well. I have a deadline," she said shortly, drawing his his apparently wandering attention back to her. "Have a good evening Mr Wayne."

"Always a pleasure, Miss Vale," Bruce replied. As she walked away to grill a more interesting victim, Bruce thanked his lucky stars that a conversation with the intrepid reporter had remained so brief. And then his phone buzzed in his pocket, announcing the next round of irritation from _another_ reporter.

 _ **Clark Kent:**_ _Having fun?  
_ **Me:** Tonnes.  
 _ **Clark Kent:**_ _I can see that :P_

Bruce looked up from the device and scanned the crowd until his eyes settled on a man slightly too tall and too broad in the shoulders to go completely unnoticed. Clark was hiding behind his spectacles (and how that disguise worked, Bruce would _never_ know) and crammed into a suit classier than his usual red and blue; trailing after Lois Lane as she flittered from one Gotham elite to another, clearly on the hunt for some story. Clark met Bruce's look and winked; causing the latter to roll his eyes in exasperation.

 _ **Clark Kent:**_ _Wheres D tonite?  
_ **Me:** School dance.  
 _ **Clark Kent:**_ _Awww! ^0^_  
 **Me:** Did you just 'awww' Robin? He's a highly skilled ninja and will kick your|

Bruce cleared his throat and deleted the last message before it sent; deciding that ignoring the Boyscout's immaturity was the better course of action. A response would only incite the man further.

So Bruce took his champagne/soda and put as much distance between himself and the mild mannered reporter as possible. But that manoeuvre only put him enticingly close to the exit. He could be out that door and on his way to one of Batman's emergency caches in under a minute. And then he could be doing something legitimately helpful for society rather than pandering to the rich snobs around him that were supposedly his kind.

There was only one thing that stopped him.

"Do not even think about it, Master Bruce."

* * *

 **On the other side of town...**

...in Gotham's Doll Emporium, Harley Quinn was indulging in some late night Christmas shopping... for herself. The latest Sally Sweetums doll was going on sale the following day, but Harley couldn't be waiting in line for hours like those other poor schmucks. Why be a psychotic villain's girlfriend if you're just gonna follow the rules?No, breaking and entering was way more fun!

Grinning broadly, Harley slipped in through the building's skylight and dropped into the centre of the grand establishment; throwing in a spin and a somersault and finishing with flair. "Ta-daaaa!"

Rows and rows of lifeless eyes watched her display, so Harley bowed theatrically to her audience. "Thank you! Thank you! I'll be here 'til Tuesday!"

Unsurprisingly, the dolls didn't applaud in reply, but Harley kept beaming as if they had. She dropped into a handstand so that she was level with the bottom shelf, winked at it's occupant, and then cartwheeled off down the aisle.

Gotham's Doll Emporium was like a throwback to the Victorian era; lined with wooden shelves carved with intricate patterns and overshadowed by currently unlit chandeliers. Long shadows were cast by the glow of street lamps through the store's front window and the dull emergency lights. With girls' toys ranging from Barbie to classic china dolls, the place was innately creepy.

But Harley didn't mind. Creepy was her fetish after all.

Still cartwheeling like a schoolgirl, she searched up and down the aisles until she finally found the treasure that she sought. Piled high in boxes was a mountain of Sally Sweetums. The rag-dolls' blonde locks and rosy red cheeks gleamed idyllically down at her, and Harley couldn't help but sigh.

Just what she always wanted.

Well, since yesterday anyway.

With a prankster's glee she purposely chose a box from the bottom row, causing a landslide down the entire left hand side. She eagerly tore into the box and untangled her new Sally Sweetums from its packaging, hugging the doll close to her chest. It was adorable. It was perfect. It was...

...missing something.

Harley dropped to her knees as her stolen purchase fell vastly short of her expectations. It was Christmas, the time of year where a girl got exactly what she wanted. But it wasn't right. It was missing something. _Someone._

She chewed her lip as tears threatened to spill down her powdered white cheeks. "I miss you Mistah J!" she howled, her withheld tears released in a loud sob.

Poor Puddin' was all locked up in Arkham without her ever since the nasty Injustice League convinced him to join them in some world conquering plot or whatever. Then the real League had shown up and the so-called super villains had rolled over and surrendered, leaving Mistah J with no choice but to go back to the asylum. Harley had nothing against Arkham, in fact she rather liked the place; but with her Puddin' all alone there at Christmas – it was enough to turn her triumphant moment sour.

She should pay him a visit.

Yeah. A conjugal visit. That would cheer them both right up!

Tears forgotten and Sally Sweetums abandoned, Harley clambered up the shelves and back up through the skylight, the brisk night air cutting through her seasonal costume. She scarpered across the roof, her shoes clip-clopping like reindeer hooves as she gleefully turned towards Arkham Isle.

But then another thought hit her like a snowball to the face. She hadn't gotten Puddin' a present! What kind of crazy girlfriend was she? He'd be mad if she showed up with nothing!

What could she get him? Socks? Christmas jumper? Prozac? Torture devices? Mistah J was just so hard to shop for!

Harley mulled over her options as she hopped across the rooftops. Down below the wonderful sounds of Gotham's night life reached her ears – the panicked screams of victims, the raucous laughter of muggers and rapists and drunkards, the distant gunfire of Penguin and Black Mask's gang war. A merrier tune than the horrific Christmas carols that she had been forced to endure this month.

And then a bright, mischievous cackle broke through the night smog.

Harley diverted her flight path to Arkham in order to investigate the goings-on in an alley down below. She dangled over the parapet like a gargoyle and watched as the garishly coloured Boy Wonder danced around a gang of thugs. His cape fluttered like torn wrapping paper as he jumped and flipped about.

And suddenly Harley Quinn knew exactly what to get her boyfriend for Christmas.

All she would need was some ribbon.

* * *

 **Which is how...**

…Robin ended up in Arkham Asylum, tied up like a parcel complete with a bow. And his night didn't get any better from there.

Where he was curled up involuntarily on the ground, Robin had a fantastic view of Harley's Tinkerbell shoes. But with a little more twisting he was able to see the room that he was in. The ceiling was high and cracked from the damp, the strip lights that hung from it looking as if they were barely holding on to the plaster. The floor was once tiled, though now most of the ceramics were broken or missing; with a plughole set into the concrete a few yards from his face.

Behind his back he could feel a table leg, and a couple of other trolleys littered the space. From his angle on the floor, Robin couldn't see what was on them, but judging by the smell of the place it wasn't lollipops and candy canes. From somewhere behind him he could hear the hum of what sounded like an oven. That coupled with Harley's words of 'Dead Man's Entrance' had Robin suspicious of just _where_ in Arkham he might be.

As if being in the asylum wasn't bad enough. He was in the damn _morgue._

The Joker dropped down in a crouch in front of him, his switch blade passing from hand to hand. "Hello Bird Boy," he greeted with that eternal grin. "Do you know where you are?"

Robin wasn't gagged, but he settled for glaring defiantly anyway.

"You're in Arkham, boy," the Joker explained with flourish, as if Robin wasn't smart enough to have already figured that out from the clown's garishly orange prison jumpsuit. The Joker grabbed Robin by the ribbon that bound him so that he was sitting up, giving him a better view of the place. The psychopath gestured proudly around them and then bent down to Robin's ear and stage whispered, "Do you like what we've done with the place?"

Robin nodded at a wreath that had been hung below the barred window. It was made up of playing cards and what looked like blood splatters. "Very festive," he ground out.

"Isn't it though?" the Joker agreed, apparently missing the sarcasm. He slung his arm across Robin's shoulders as if they were old pals, the switch blade spinning idly in his other hand. "I really do love this time of year. The food, the music, the presents - oh! The presents! There's nothing I love more than tearing into a good gift and seeing what spills out!"

Harley giggled from where she was perched on the table.

"In fact," the Joker grinned impossibly wide. He took the switch blade and slid it beneath the ribbon that criss-crossed Robin's chest, purposely digging deep enough to slice the fabric and skin beneath. "I think it's about time that I _open_ my present!"


	2. Chapter 2

Deep within the basement of Arkham...

...the Joker was greatly enjoying playing with his new gift. Harley could tell by the way his grin spread so wide it literally met his eyes. The Boy Wonder, however, didn't seem to be having half so much fun. Harley didn't really understand his misery – she loved the care and attention her Puddin' would put into playing with her; in fact, she was even a little bit jealous.

And immensely enjoying herself.

They had managed to transfer Robin from the floor to the examination table so that Mistah J could more easily open his present. The bird boy was already covered in cuts from where the Joker had been a bit too over exuberant in slicing through the ribbon; and with the fight the brat had put up once his hands were free had him covered in bruises as well. Now they had him tied down with the straps attached to the table, pinning him across the shoulders, waist, knees and ankles, with a fabric gag taped in his mouth. Try wiggling you're way out of that!

But considering that this was the morgue, Harley couldn't help but wonder why they would need straps for corpses. Weird.

"Come now, Wonder Boy," Mistah J admonished from where he was perched on the edge of the table. He absently picked up a tool from the trolley beside him and fiddled with it. "Don't be so serious, I just want to have some fun!" The tool in his hand suddenly whirred to life, making the Joker jump and then wave it around it eagerly. "What do you reckon this thing does?"

"It's a Stryker saw, Mistah J," Harley helpfully supplied. "They use it to cut open the skull so they can see the brain."

Joker's eyes widened with glee as he switched the saw to his dominant hand and leaned over the Boy Wonder. Robin was trying to inch away, but he was well and truly trapped in his bindings. The saw lowered closer and closer to the boy's forehead, slicing through half of his bangs and scattering strands of hair everywhere. "Like this?" Mistah J asked.

"Yep, Puddin'!"

Robin had to be terrified as the rapidly spinning blade began to cut through his skin, but he refused to make a single sound. Blood sprayed across Joker's stark white face where it caught in the saw blade's grooves and flicked all over the place. Harley leaned forward eagerly, idly wondering if she should bring a chair forward and mark it as part of the 'splash zone'.

The saw cut deeper; grinding on bone. A small noise of pain slipped unbidden from Robin's throat.

"Nah."

Mistah J slouched back and switched off the saw with a shrug. Harley pouted at him in disappointment, just missing the barely audible sigh of relief from the Boy Wonder. "Sure, open brain surgery is fun, but I'm just not feeling it. Too quick."

Harley nodded in understanding, even though she thought removing the bird boy's skullcap and toying with his grey matter still would have been fun. She wondered if it was true that by poking the different parts she could make Robin do weird things – that would be so cool! Maybe they could do that next time. "So what do ya wanna do, Puddin'?"

Joker stroked his chin in parody of his dark detective counterpart. "Well, I've always had a love of a good ol' crowbar beating, that never gets old," he pondered thoughtfully, holding an imaginary crowbar and swinging it experimentally, before miming tossing it over his shoulder. "But the setting's all wrong, don't you think? That's got more of an abandoned warehouse vibe..."

More plans for their next date! Harley could feel herself getting all excited and closed the painful distance between herself and her Puddin'. She threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck; her tongue and teeth coming in to play as she pressed herself close to his side. If Joker noticed her presence, he did a very good job of ignoring it. On the table, Robin looked away from the display in disgust.

"What can we do in a morgue...?" Joker muttered, his eyes roaming all over the Boy Wonder as he clearly imagined several scenarios. And then he chuckled darkly and lifted a pale hand to trace a shape across Robin's chest. The boy tried to shy away from the touch, but there was only so far that he could breathe in and struggling was pointless with the way that he was bound. "Well, there's really only one thing, right Wonder Boy?" he asked, a finger trailing from Robin's collar bone down to his navel. "Tell me, would you prefer a Y, or a T?"

And Harley realised exactly what game Mistah J wanted to play; and it was going to be so. Much. Fun.

"Nurse!" Joker stood abruptly, knocking the unsuspecting Harley Quinn to the ground with a startled ooof! But she was up again in an instant when she saw Joker hold out a hand expectantly. "Scalpel!"

"Yes doctor!" she exclaimed eagerly as she got right into her role. She picked the biggest, sharpest blade she could spot and handed it over, coming round the table so that she would have the best view.

"Alright, let's begin the autopsy," Joker announced like an actor on a TV show. "The date is the 23rd of December 2010, at 2.16am. Subject is Boy Blunder; male, age 12, scrawny."

Robin actually made a noise of protest at that description, making Harley giggle.

"Beginning incision," Joker described, his voice becoming more excited as he lowered the blade and pressed it into the dip of Robin's left shoulder until it sliced through flesh. Blood immediately began to ooze from the cut and trickle across the contours of the boy's chest; making Harley chew on her lip in anticipation. A low groan escaped Robin's gag, but he didn't allow himself to make any more sound.

Harley wanted to remove the gag and hear him scream.

Slowly, ever-so-painfully slowly, Joker dragged the scalpel through the vest; having to saw the knife a few times to cut through the reinforced fabric. The hardest part was getting through the stylised R emblazoned on the boys chest; the blade stabbing deeper into the muscle with every hack and tear at the symbol.

"Always a pleasure watching you work, doctor," Harley couldn't help but murmur as she watched her Puddin' play. She wanted to be close to him and feel his muscles work as he carefully carved the Boy Wonder; but she knew that he didn't appreciate her touching him when he was busy. Instead she memorised every facial expression and movement for later so that the conjugal part of her visit could be more... satisfying.

Once the top part of the incision was done, creating a V shape that spread across Robin's shoulders, Joker began the cut down the boy's abdomen, slicing through the yellow catches that held the suit together. The blood was flowing freely now, all over his chest and stomach. His breathing was becoming hitched and panicked, which just made the scalpel slice deeper.

Joker stopped at Robin's navel, and then handed the bloodied blade back to Harley. And then he dug his fingers into the incision and tugged experimentally. Robin arched in shock and pain, a muffled yell trapped by the gag. "How do you...?" Joker asked as he continued trying to peel the skin back.

"Don't ya have ta break the ribs or something, doctor?" Harley suggested, almost clapping in glee at the delicious mix of pain-filled moans and tearing flesh.

"Right you are, nurse," Mistah J agreed, pulling his gore-covered hands out of the Boy Wonder. "Where did I put that saw...?"

"HEY!" a foreign voice yelled as the door to the morgue slammed open. Standing there was one of the asylum's guards (obviously a newbie, considering that he had just walked in on the Joker armed with nothing more than a cellphone...) who took in the scene in an instant, gulping in horror and terror when he saw the sliced up Boy Wonder. "What the hell are you doing in here?!"

Mistah J sighed tiredly. "Harley, be a dear and see to our visitor."

"Okie dokie Puddin'!"

Severe blood loss and head trauma...

...is not overly conducive to forming escape plans. But it is good for playing possum.

At least, he hoped he was playing possum.

Robin was trying to hold himself together (somewhat literally) but he knew that he wasn't in good shape. Even before the Joker had started his games he was sporting at least one cracked rib and an almighty knot on the back of his head; but now...? Now he was in real pain.

His forehead burned from the saw, and he could feel too much blood clotting in his hair and running uncomfortably into his ear. The small nicks and cuts that littered his body had dulled to background aches along with the bruises from his earlier bid for freedom. He could have handled all of that though. He had been able to stay quiet and relatively calm as he tried to plot how the hell he was going to get out of this mess; right up until the moment that the Joker had teasingly traced the Y across his chest.

Just the thought had practically paralysed him. He was trapped and helpless; no belt, no gloves – just a small knife in his boot that he had no chance of getting to. He had no way to defend himself as the Joker performed a fricking autopsy on him while he was still breathing.

Robin was almost grateful for the gag. He wasn't sure that he could have stopped himself from screaming otherwise.

And then as if being cut open like a cadaver wasn't bad enough – then the fricking Joker had used his hands to try and pry him open. The psychopath's fingers were literally under his skin – tugging.

He blacked out.

"HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN HERE?!"

Robin blinked open his eyes behind his mask at the new voice. White hot burning pain assaulted him but he pushed past it so that he could find out what the new factor was and whether or not it could help him. What he saw as he tilted his head slightly (ignoring the fresh river of blood that dripped over his mask lens) was an Arkham guard standing in the doorway. Gripped tightly in his right hand was a cellphone, which Robin guessed meant that the guard had been on his break or something when he had accidentally stumbled upon them.

The guard was clueless, terrified, and completely unprepared.

"Harley, be a dear and take care of our visitor."

Robin squeezed his eyes shut again, not wanting to see what happened next. But he couldn't unhear the shink of blade being thrown and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. He couldn't help the poor, unlucky guard – he couldn't even help himself. Guilt and relief warred within him – he had unintentionally gotten the guy killed; but at the same time the guard had interrupted; stopping the Joker before he could find his saw. And perhaps, Robin thought as he just about managed to get his mind back on track; given the Boy Wonder an opportunity...

"All done, Mistah J!" Harley called triumphantly, and then she picked up the Stryker saw that they had been looking for before. "And look, I found this!"

The Joker just sighed despondently, looking like a kid who had woken up on Christmas to find out that Santa hadn't been. "There's no point now," he sulked like a teenager. "He ruined my game!"

Harley put down the saw and patted the Joker's arm sympathetically. "It's okay, Puddin', we'll play a different game."

"I don't wanna."

Harley carded her fingers through the Joker's short, dark green hair as she pressed against his side and brushed her lips against his ear. She whispered something that Robin couldn't hear (and most likely didn't want to) and then leaned back with a twisted smile. The Joker grinned too, and then looked down at the Boy Wonder. "Okay," he said in apparent agreement with Harley's suggestion. "But there's something else we've got to do first."

"What's that, Mistah J?"

"Well, my dear, it's Christmas isn't it?" the Joker asked, to which Harley nodded. "Then shouldn't we be cooking Christmas dinner? I know there's no turkey; but a Robin will do, don't you think?"

Harley's eyes widened with realisation, and then she danced over to the wall just out of Robin's line of sight. The low background hum that he thought sounded like an oven before suddenly became louder as the squeak of metal hinges announced the opening of a door. The hum was now more like the roar of flames. An incinerator.

"Let's roast this bird!"

Robin let his body go lax (which wasn't all that difficult) and pretended that he was unconscious. Near where his hand was trapped against his side a scalpel had been dropped, and he quickly grabbed it and hid it loosely in his fingers. He felt hands begin to undo the straps across his knees and ankles. It took all of his self control not to leap up the moment that he was free – he had to time this perfectly.

He wouldn't get another shot.

The Joker lifted Robin under the arms like a sack of potatoes, causing pain to flair in his chest and his breathing to hitch; though he forced himself to keep his body un-tensed. Harley took him by the feet, and between the pair of them they managed to get him off of the table and towards the incinerator. Robin waited until he could feel the heat on his bare skin; and then he acted.

Well, he intended to anyway. But he couldn't move. His body wouldn't respond to his commands; he was too tired and weak and in pain. He internally struggled with every shred of willpower he had left, but he stayed completely still in his captors' grip; right up until the moment they tried to shove him into the incinerator feet first.

That was when his body's survival instinct finally kicked in.

His boot heels touched the metal surface inside the industrial-sized oven; the intense heat sending a spike of pain shooting up his legs and jolting his body with some much-needed adrenaline.

Finally, his arm responded as he lashed out with his stolen blade; catching the Joker by surprise as he sliced the clown across his cheek. He simultaneously yanked his legs out of the incinerator and kicked out at Harley. They both dropped him – the pain of smacking into the concrete not hitting him until later – and then he was up on his feet and running. Well, running is probably exaggerating. It was more like staggering as quickly as possible towards the door. Adrenaline could only do so much after all.

As he reached the door he stooped a little lower to collect up the downed guard's abandoned cellphone, ripped the taped-on gag off of his mouth and then kept moving on to freedom.

Now he could only hope he stayed free.

After the rude interruption of the guard...

…and with it the inevitable and eventual alerting of the rest of the staff, meant that soon Joker's fun would have to come to an end. There would be alarms and manhunts and signals to a certain bat-shaped do-gooder; and as much as Joker would love to have that dance, there were other things in play. He couldn't afford to let the Bat catch him with a broken bird. The Injustice League had bigger and better plans; and although he didn't care much for world domination – he sure did love their toys!

And so once Harley had taken care of the guard and it was clear that the game had come to an end; there was only one thing left to do. Get rid of the evidence.

"Let's roast this bird!"

Wonder Boy was unconscious and barely breathing anyway – he wouldn't have been any more fun. Although it was a shame that he wouldn't get to see Batty's face when he found out that his precious sidekick was dead. Perhaps Bats would get a new one and Joker would be able to do it properly next time – maybe with a crowbar in an abandoned warehouse – ooh! With explosions too!

He grabbed the bird boy under the arms and heaved him off of the table; loving the odd squelch the bloodied, torn skin made when it was pushed back together. Harley took his legs and lifted them level with the incinerator door; and then it all suddenly went very wrong.

A spazm of movement and suddenly Joker's cheek burned as if he'd been slapped. He automatically let the Boy Wonder go as he clapped a hand to hurt cheek and pulled it back in surprise to see his own blood. Harley had been kicked to the floor and the damn bird boy was gone.

"Find him," Joker hissed at her, making her flinch back at his tone. "Find him and kill him!"

"Yes, Mistah J."

Now was not a good time to get lost...

...but the Boy Wonder had to have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Robin knew the asylum's layout; the building just one of scores of blueprints burned into his memory. But with blood dripping onto the lens of his mask and the pale green walls reduced to greyscale, there was the slight possibility that his recollection was less than accurate.

The fact that he couldn't breathe and he kept imagining his insides falling out wasn't helping.

He kept one hand clean and on the wall to keep him upright and minimise his blood trail, while the other hand clamped over part of the Y-incision across his chest. It hurt – Jesus Christ did it hurt – but a small, non-panicky part of his brain knew that it wasn't as deep as he imagined. Aside from his stomach where the Joker had shoved his fingers inside him, and the R-symbol where the blade had hit bone, the cut was mostly just a flesh wound. The Joker was more interested in inflicting the fear of an autopsy than genuinely performing one.

But that didn't stop his imagination from telling him that it wasn't just blood he could feel escaping between his fingers.

His head was spinning from blood loss and his breathing was strained at best; leaving his legs to move purely by instinct at this point. He was struggling to remember his name, let alone the building's layout... but he was pretty sure that he had had more of a plan than this...

Which was when he remembered the cellphone.

Staggering down another corridor, Robin stopped and leaned heavily against the wall. The hand that was trying to stop all of his blood from escaping also held the liberated device – he had forgotten that he was holding it before he had pressed it over part of the wound. It was soaked with blood, and as Robin flipped it open he could only pray that it still worked. He sagged in relief when it did.

His thumb moved automatically over the keypad, keying a number ingrained in his memory. There was one person he knew who could maybe make it in time – one person who would always answer his call.

The wet phone felt weird pressed against the side of his face, but really the discomfort was nothing compared to everything else. He put all of his effort into sounding calm and collected, as if maybe that would make him be able to think clearer as he used his only lifeline. He wasn't entirely sure what he had said or whether the conversation had been real or just a figment of his oxygen-deprived brain; but he couldn't really care less anymore.

Approaching footsteps.

Robin forced himself onto his feet and tried to move again. He made it maybe two or three steps before he collapsed. And then there was a shadow falling across him and he didn't know much of anything anymore.

Meanwhile, in Central City...

...Wally West was not awake. His phone was ringing; the tinny trill of Rocking Robin that his annoying best friend had set irreversibly as his ringtone disturbing his peace, but his sleep-clogged mind couldn't bring himself to care. Thankfully, for a certain bird's sake, his father thumped on his bedroom wall in annoyance, forcing Wally to roll over and silence the infernal device.

Clumsily he grabbed up the phone and hit accept. "Ugh, uh, hullo?"

"Hey Walls," Robin's voice sounded inhumanely chirpy to Wally's half-conscious brain; though if he had been more awake, he clearly would have heard the falsity of his tone. "You busy?"

Wally grumbled in irritation. "I'm'a sweep."

"Sorry," Robin apologised. Wally rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he resigned himself to being conscious. It was then that he noticed that he could hear Robin breathing over the static of the line – but it didn't quite sound right. And then there came a loud crash, whatever caused it eliciting a yelp from the Boy Wonder. And since when did Robin yelp? "I need your help."

"Where are you?" Wally demanded as he sat up and paid attention, already looking for something other than his boxers to wear. He grabbed his goggles as he listened to the strained breathing and odd background noise. "Rob?"

"Arkham."

And now Wally West was wide awake.


	3. Chapter 3

Kid Flash ran as if his best friend's life depended on it...

...which really, it probably did. He cut cross-country at speeds high even for a speedster, not really paying attention to anything other than just getting there as quickly as possible. In minutes he had crossed the city border into Gotham and then it was a short run down to the small island that housed the infamous asylum.

And that was when he ran into trouble.

Security didn't really pose much trouble (which was more than a little worrying), but then again, Kid Flash was in the stealth version of his suit and he was moving faster than any camera could see, so maybe that was understandable. But no, the problem that he hit was the fact that Arkham was huge, and he had no idea where inside Robin was. Perhaps he should have asked that before he set off. Though Rob didn't sound like he really knew, and even if he did, the phone had cut off before he could have said.

(And that was really worrying.)

Kid Flash vaulted a security checkpoint; sending paperwork and fast food wrappers scattering – though he didn't stick around long enough to see the surely comical expression on the guard's face. He settled for searching in a grid pattern, covering the entire ground floor in under a minute and coming up with nothing. And then he hit a stairwell and had to decide whether to look up or down first – a wrong choice at this point could have consequences Kid didn't want to think about.

He thought back on the phone call, trying to recall as many details as he could. The echoes of background noise, the bad connection...

Down.

He shot off down the stairs, his boots barely touching the steps as he ran. There were two sub-levels; the first one coming up empty, leaving him praying that Robin was in the basement. He had to be.

But with every room he checked that hope kept fading – maybe he should have gone upstairs first?

Last door. Peeling green paint; tarnished brass sign reading M—GU-. A horrible feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

Kid Flash slammed straight through the wood; momentum causing it to splinter with ease the moment that his shoulder hit it. And then his toes smacked into something solid and he came crashing down to earth. His goggles hit concrete and cracked, but he shook it off and rolled over onto his back. Propped up on his elbows he got a look at what had sent him tumbling; his breath catching in his throat when he realised that he was lying in a pool of blood. The frozen surprised expression of an Arkham guard stared back at him.

"Well, nice of you to drop in."

Kid Flash twisted around at the disturbingly familiar voice; the horror of tripping over a dead body replaced by the ice cold dread of finding the Joker. Beside him stood Harley Quinn wearing a red and green elf-outfit and pouting miserably at the interruption. Sagging between them was an unconscious and bloody Boy Wonder.

On the plus side – he'd found Robin. On the down side... the psychopathic couple were trying to shove Robin in to the incinerator.

"Let him go!" Kid Flash demanded. He sped back onto his feet, but didn't get any closer. The Joker raised an eyebrow, and then let go off Robin with one hand, causing the Boy Wonder to slip lower in their grip. Harley's arms around Rob's waist and the Joker's grip on his cape collar were the only things stopping the younger boy from falling head first into the oven.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

Kid Flash huffed in frustration. "Put him down. On the floor."

Harley rolled her eyes. "Or what?"

"Or this."

Kid Flash put on a burst of speed, literally crossing the room in less than the blink of an eye. He hit the Joker in the jaw with a right hook that he didn't hold back with, causing the clown to stumble back and hit the floor. In the same second, Kid Flash leg-sweeped Harley and took her place; catching Robin before he could fall into the incinerator, so close that there was less than an inch of clearance between skull and furnace.

With Robin secure in his arms he took off out of the room; the whole altercation taking place in about two seconds. He didn't stop to check whether or not he had hurt the crazies too severely with his powers, he was slightly more concerned by his best friends condition. He ran them a couple of corridors away until he found what he considered to be a safe corner, and then knelt down to assess the Boy Wonder's injuries.

"Rob?" Wally asked tentatively, snapping his goggles up and onto his head with his free hand. Green eyes roved over the smaller boy, taking note of the half-dried gouge in his forehead and the terrifying Y-shape carved into his chest. Blood was everywhere – more blood than could possibly be healthy outside of the human body. Any visible skin was ghostly pale; his breath coming in short, stuttered gasps. Wally gently patted his cheek, trying to encourage his friend to wake up. "Rob, can you hear me?"

"W-Wall-ee?"

"Rob?" Wally asked again, more insistently than before. He wiped his thumb over the right lens of Robin's domino mask to clear away the blood smeared across it; wishing that he could take the damn thing off and just see if Rob had opened his eyes.

Robin's breathing got even shorter as he winced in pain, his head turning to one side as if he were looking around. His brow furrowed in confusion, his voice sounding small and far away as he asked "I'm... I-I'm not...d-d...?"

Wally guided Robin's face back to look at him, hating the shaking of the younger teen's body that couldn't be totally attributed to blood loss. Robin was scared, more scared than Wally had ever seen him before. But judging on where Wally had found him and who he had found him with, Robin had every right to be. He put every effort into sounding as reassuring as possible "No Rob, it's okay. You're safe, I promise. It's over."

Robin curled against him slightly more, one hand gripping the black fabric of the Kid Flash suit like a life line. "I want-t-to go h-home."

"Okay, Rob," Wally agreed as he stood up again, Robin nestled safely in his grip. "Let's go home."

Meanwhile, at Wayne Manor...

...Bruce and Alfred returned home; the main phone ringing incessantly even as they crossed over the threshold. Bruce had been feeling uneasy all night, though he had put it down to being trapped in room full of predatory socialites while his city was left unprotected. Thankfully now that he had made an appearance, he should be able to get away with skipping the next few – which sounded like an incredibly good idea to him.

"Wayne Residence," Alfred answered politely, despite the fact that it was nearly four in the morning and an inhuman time to be calling anyone.

Weary, Bruce began to head up the stairs, intending to stop off at Dick's room and check that he was asleep before passing out for the few hours between then and dawn. But he didn't make it very far before Alfred's voice had him frozen mid-step.

"Miss Barbara?" the butler asked, sounding surprised. "What brings you calling at this hour? Master Richard...? We have only just arrived home ourselves. I see, now. Yes, yes Miss Barbara, I will have him call you as soon as he can. Thank you, and good night."

"Alfred?" Bruce asked warily as the butler hung up the phone.

"It would seem that Master Richard did not get a ride home with the Commissioner this morning as we had arranged," Alfred relayed. The odd feeling of unease that had settled in Bruce's stomach twisted painfully. He had only allowed Dick to attend the school dance instead of the charity function purely because he had thought that he would be safe with Gordon – but if he had missed his ride... how did he get home? "Miss Barbara explained that the young sir stepped out for some air and did not return."

"And she didn't call sooner?" Bruce demanded; his eyes fixing on the top of the stairs towards Dick's room, where he damn well hoped the boy was sleeping.

"She believed that he was mad at her and had called me for a ride home," Alfred explained patiently. "She's been calling the Manor ever since she got home and realised that she could not get hold of him."

Bruce nodded distractedly as he continued up the stairs, praying that he would just have to give his son a lecture on irresponsible behaviour and bad manners; and not the alternative that his gut was warning him of. He reached Dick's room and opened the door without knocking; disheartened to find the bed empty and unslept in.

"He's not here, Alfred," Bruce stated, his panic barely concealed behind a thin veil of stoicism. He turned back into the corridor and called for his son in case he was simply in another room, but the old manor house offered him only silence in return.

"It is possible that he is merely downstairs, sir," Alfred said reassuringly. "He is likely perfectly fine."

That's not what Bruce's instincts told him.

He marched down to the cave anyway, knowing that it would be his best chance of finding Dick even if the teen wasn't waiting down there clueless to the stress that he was causing. Bruce opened the grandfather clock and descended the stone steps, Alfred close behind him. Once they reached the large open space and it was clear that none of the shadows concealed the missing boy, Bruce hit the computer console in frustration. "Where is he, Alfred?"

"Uh, Mr Batman sir?"

Bruce turned at the voice, surprised to find Kid Flash standing in his lair. He was even more stunned to see Robin cradled in the older teen's arms, clearly unconscious. All he could see was blood.

"I found him."

Alfred had seen many horrible things in his duties...

...but none quite so horrific as the wounded boy before him. Bruce had quickly taken Dick from Wally's arms and carried him over to the examination table; but the moment that Dick's back had touched the cool surface the boy had gone from unresponsive to panicked, his arms and legs kicking and flailing in an attempt to escape. "Master Richard, please!"

"Dick, Dick, stop," Bruce tried, catching the small boy by the shoulders and trying to keep him still, but that just seemed to make things worse. Wally stood slightly back from the table looking terrified, and Alfred couldn't blame him. Each thrash seemed to send more blood oozing from Dick's wounds, and it didn't look as if the boy had much more he could afford to lose.

"He's having a panic attack," Alfred stated calmly, turning so that he could measure a safe dose of sedatives before Dick could cause himself anymore damage. "Hold his arm."

"Dick, please, calm down, it's okay," Bruce attempted to soothe as he caught one of Dick's wrists and held it down so that Alfred could insert an IV and administer the drugs. Still the boy struggled, barely understandable words of protest tearing out of his throat. "You need to calm down, Dickie! Please!"

Gradually, the fight went out of the teenager as the sedatives began to take affect, though he still looked petrified even as he slipped into unconsciousness. Dick was traumatised, though Alfred didn't understand quite by what until he was able to get a good look at the wounds that had been inflicted. "My word."

Bruce's eyes widened as he too took in the sight before them. It was difficult to make out with the mix of dried and fresh blood that seemed to cake every inch of the Robin uniform, but the crudely carved Y-incision had them both cringing in horror. The imagination was a terrifying enemy when presented with something that so closely implied the act of autopsy. Alfred recovered first, though his hands still moved hesitantly as he began to clear the layers of fabric and blood in order to get to the wound.

"What happened to him?" Bruce asked seemingly no one; his eyes still glued to the cut in Dick's chest. And then he spun and turned on Wally, the fear for his son turning to misplaced anger. "What happened?"

Wally was as white as a sheet; though whether that was from the force of being pinned with a direct batglare or the unpleasant experience of finding Dick, Alfred could not be certain. The red-headed teen stammered under the pressure to respond "I-I don't know," Wally shrugged helplessly. "He c-called me, said he needed help, so I-I ran..."

"Where?" Bruce interrupted shortly. Alfred raised an eyebrow at him in warning of his tone, but Bruce was too busy glaring at the speedster to notice.

"A-Arkham."

Silence fell. The cave was so quiet, as if even the bats knew the implications of that place. Bruce glanced back at Dick just as Alfred finished cutting away the uniform, revealing the wound in all of its glory. His hands gripped the edge of the table for support. "Who?" he asked, quieter than before.

"I-It was the J-J-Joker and Harley," Wally answered, the temperature seeming to drop at his words. "I-I f-found them in the morgue."

Bruce turned away from Wally and returned his focus to Dick, taking the sleeping teen's hand as if to offer comfort or sympathy. Alfred cleaned the wound with care and practised speed, making the angry red lacerations stand out against pale skin. With the boy's stillness and chill to the touch, it was hard not to picture Dick as the autopsied corpse that he so disturbingly resembled. It was a painful reminder that one day this parody of tragedy would be a reality that they would have to face; especially in their line of work.

"I-is he...?" Wally asked after the silence stretched on for too long. He stepped forward in concern for his best friend, but Bruce stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "D-did they...?"

"You don't want to see this," Bruce warned. The wound looked so much worse now that it was bloodless. It looked too real. "Go home, Wally."

"No," Wally refused adamantly, his voice stronger now. "I'm not leaving him. Not until I know he's okay."

"Wally." Bruce growled.

"No."

Bruce sighed, too tired and too worried to really put up a fight; something for which Alfred was grateful. Tensions were already riding high enough as it was without a shouting match adding to the mix. "Call your uncle," Bruce conceded. "Keep it vague. You can stay in the spare room. But you have to leave the cave now. There's nothing you can do here."

Wally nodded, his green eyes drifting to what he could see of Dick past where Bruce was shielding him. "Understood," he said quietly. "Thank you."

He vanished with a burst of speed, most likely heading to the changing area where over the years a few spare sets of his civilian clothes had been accumulated. Alfred's rule of no capes in the house extended to guests as well, and Wally had long since learned to obey it.

Alfred continued to work in silence as Bruce hovered like a sentinel over his son. In his hand he held part of the Robin suit's tunic; the torn R displayed prominently in his grip. The butler allowed him to stay like that for nearly ten minutes before deciding that that was quite enough brooding for one morning. "Perhaps you should heed your own advice, sir," he said without looking up. "There is nothing you can do here either."

Bruce ignored the suggestion. "How bad is it?"

"Not as bad as it looks," Alfred replied. "Most of the incision is just a flesh wound designed to inflict more mental trauma than physical, I would imagine, though there are parts that are significantly deeper. Here," he gestured to the left of Dick's chest, "the cuts are jagged and uneven, most likely due to the difficulty of cutting through the insignia."

Bruce gestured at the wider lesion down the centre of the boy's abdomen. "What about here?"

Alfred drew in a breath. "That... that appears to have been caused by a blunt hook-like instrument. Most likely..." he paused and cleared his throat. "...most likely fingers, sir."

If it was possible for Bruce to get paler, in that instant he most certainly did. "F-fingers?" Bruce actually stuttered, an impediment Alfred hadn't heard from his eldest charge in a very long time. He stared down at the wound, possibly picturing the act that could have created it, judging from his ill expression. "That sick... that sick man tried to pry him open?"

"It would seem his intention was to perform an autopsy, though he clearly lacked the skill and knowledge to do so," Alfred explained somewhat clinically in an effort to keep his own anger and disgust at bay. "A small mercy for which I am grateful."

"Will it scar?"

"I will do my upmost to prevent that, sir."

Bruce looked like a bull just waiting to see a red flag. "The Joker will pay."

"Yes, he will, sir" the butler agreed. "But not today."

Bruce sighed as he squeezed his son's hand.

"Not today."

T'was the day before Christmas and all through the house...

...not a creature was stirring, not even mouse. Or at least, Wally didn't think that there was. Wayne Manor was a big place after all, it was really hard to tell if there was truly nothing moving at any given moment. And he didn't really think that Alfie would let there be mice in the house anyway. They were more bat-people than rodent-people, anyway.

Wally sighed, trying to derail the tangent his unoccupied mind was running down at high speed before he starting weighing the pros and cons of Ratman and Bobbins.

He was in Dick's room even though he practically had his own room at the manor from the amount of time he spent there. That was where he was meant to be staying; but even though he was exhausted from the events of the day before there was no way that he could sleep. Not after seeing Dick like that, no way.

So instead of lying in his own room doing nothing, Wally had decided to cross the hall and take up residence in Dick's. The billionaire's kid had a huge king size bed anyway and was totally only taking up like a quarter of it; so Wally figured it was okay to lounge on the other side and read Dick's comic collection. Anything to try and distract him from thinking too much. Thinking was bad right now.

"Ughn..."

Wally snapped to attention as the lump under the covers shifted and groaned. He tried not to be too eager or impatient as he waited for Dick to wake up in his own time, but it was hard. Part of him was relieved that his best friend was relatively all right, but he also knew that this nightmare was far from over for the bird boy. At least while he was asleep he didn't have to feel anything or a think about things – did he mention how thinking was bad right now?

Gradually blue eyes opened, taking in their surroundings before settling on Wally in confusion. "W-Walls?" Dick asked, his voice sounding hoarse. He blinked, the terror Wally had been expecting to see mysteriously absent. Dick looked more like he had forgotten they had had a sleepover or something.

"Hey," Wally greeted.

"W-what are y-y..." Dick pushed himself up on to his elbows and gave a little gasp of pain. He looked thoroughly bewildered, his hand automatically going to where the pain had flared in his chest.

And then his eyes widened in terror.

"No-no-no-no..." he muttered in denial, his breath getting shorter to the point of hyperventilation. Dick pulled up his t-shirt, the grisly Y confirming his nightmare to be real. "No-no-no..."

Wally knelt beside him on the covers and took him by the shoulders to try and draw his attention away, but Dick was fixated on the fresh stitches with unwavering focus. He couldn't breathe, the panic attack taking a hold of him fast and strong; stripping away the invulnerable mask of Robin that Wally knew to reveal the child beneath. "It's okay, Rob, look at me! It's over, you're okay, you're safe..."

The words of reassurance were doing nothing and Dick was practically asphyxiating himself, so Wally tugged the hem of the t-shirt out of the younger boy's grip and pulled it down. With the wound hidden from view, Wally tried again to get Dick's attention, this time taking him by the face and forcing him to look at the red-head. Dick froze at the touch, staring at Wally for a moment as if he couldn't see him. And then the first tear escaped.

Wally wasn't entirely sure what to do. He had never seen Dick cry before – he didn't even think it was physically possible for a Bat to cry. But if anything, the past twenty-eight hours had been a reminder that none of them were invulnerable, and maybe, right now, Dick just needed to react like a normal fourteen-year-old.

So Wally did the only thing that made sense, and pulled the Boy Wonder in for a hug.

The response was instantaneous. The moment that Wally wrapped his arms around Dick's shoulders, the smaller boy buried his face against his chest and sobbed. Dick's hand latched onto Wally's shirt like an anchor, grounding him to reality as he released all of the fear and panic that he had kept inside during the Joker's games.

Eventually the tears dissolved into hiccups and Dick pulled away. "S-sorry," he immediately apologised, his cheeks flushing in embarrassment as he scrubbed at his eyes. "I sh-shouldn't've..."

"It's fine," Wally smiled. He leaned forward and rearranged the pillows so that Dick was propped upright, and then slouched back as if nothing had happened. "You feel better?"

Dick tried to return the smile, but he couldn't quite pull it off. "Sure. All better."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Not really."

Wally sighed, but didn't push the issue. Dick had been through enough and he suspected that Bruce would probably want to know some more of the details – there was no need to make the Boy Wonder relive the story twice. Instead he decided to make himself useful and get Dick a glass of water, which went down well considering the younger teen had just shed his body weight in tears.

"So..." Dick murmured once he'd downed a glass and a half. "How long have you been here?"

"About a day," Wally shrugged. "I brought you home yesterday morning and decided to stick around."

"Wait, yesterday morning as in the day after the school dance?" Dick asked, making Wally half-shrug in confusion. Dick was starting to look worried again. "The dance was on the 22nd, but the morning after would be the 23rd which makes today Christmas Eve, right?"

"Uh, right?"

"Aren't you meant to be at your Aunt and Uncles for that huge speedster pre-Christmas feast with the Garricks and your parents that you've been talking non-stop about for the past three weeks?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Dick raised an eyebrow, thankfully the one that wasn't below the massive cut on his forehead. That would have been painful. "Then why are you here?"

Wally snorted. "Oh, no reason. Just this random person I know decided to get badly hurt and scare the crap out of me. Figured it'd be a nice idea to hang out with him until he felt better."

"Yeah, well, we've already established that I'm all better now," Dick retorted, a little self-deprecation edging its way into his tone. He spread his arms to show off his total-all-better-ness, almost completely hiding the wince that the movement caused. "See? Now shouldn't you be somewhere else?"

Wally chewed his lip apprehensively. "I'll stay if you need me."

"Walls, I'm fine," Dick said forcefully. The speedster was pretty damn sure that he was trying to convince himself with that statement just as much as he was Wally. "Go. I'll be all right."

"Dick..."

"Wally," the Boy Wonder interrupted quietly. "I... I kinda want to be alone right now. Just, just so that I can sort things out in my head. I promise, I'll call you if I need you."

Wally studied Dick for a moment, before nodding. "You'd better."

Dick smiled, and Wally leaned in for one more hug. "I know you'll always answer," Dick said quietly.

Wally grinned. "If only to shut up that annoying ring tone."

Last Christmas, Batman gave Robin a new utility belt...

...This year, Batman gave Robin...

"A new utility belt?" Dick said uncertainly. He kicked the wrapping paper to one side and lifted the yellow belt out of the box, and then glanced at Bruce over his shoulder from where he was sat on the floor. "This isn't going to become a 'thing', is it?"

Bruce gave a small chuckle and then patted the seat beside him. "Come here, I'll show you."

Dick squinted at him suspiciously before clambering to his feet and collapsing on the sofa. Alfred had given him an extra boost of painkillers so that his wound wouldn't interfere with Christmas, but he still felt an uncomfortable twinge of pain with every movement his body didn't agree with. He passed over the new belt when Bruce held a hand out for it, and then watched with intrigue as the older man popped open a compartment on the back.

"I was working on this yesterday," Bruce explained off-handedly as he showed off the circuits beneath. "It's a new in-built security feature. If anyone unauthorised by you tries to touch it or remove it, they get an electric shock strong enough to render them unconscious..."

Dick made a small noise of awe in the back of his throat as he studied the delicate wiring. The care and attention that had gone into creating the belt was incredible, and he couldn't help but appreciate the reasons behind it. Bruce understood. Dick had half-expected him to try and retire Robin, but by building him this Bruce showed him that he still trusted Dick to fulfil his role. But this way, at the same time, that fear that had held him throughout the whole ordeal; that feeling of helplessness – now he had a way to defend against that.

"...trying to find a way to incorporate it into your gauntlets as well," Bruce was saying, "but then there's the risk of accidentally harming civilians or fellow heroes when they insist on shaking hands like that somehow makes for good teamwork..."

"Bruce," Dick interrupted, making his father figure stumble to a stop and look at him. Dick smiled and then curled against his side for a hug, resting his head against Bruce's shoulder. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, son," Bruce replied, returning the hug. "Anything to keep you safe."

"Hey Puddin', do you wanna build a snowman? Come on let's go and play...

…I never see you anymore, come out the door, it's like you've gone away!"

Joker banged his head against his cell wall, praying to every deity that he had ever heard of to smite his girlfriend with extreme prejudice. He didn't even care how; just so long as it shut her up. Of all the cruel punishments he could have been dealt for his playtime with the Boy Blunder; Christmas spent with Harley Quinn as his neighbour was by far the most vindictive.

He was 99% sure Batman that had had a say in it. He might've even suggested it.

"Ho, ho, ho," Joker grumbled miserably, Harley continuing to warble in the background. "Merry Christmas my ass."


End file.
